


Outed

by TrinityVixen



Category: Given (Anime)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Outing, slut-positive, virgin!Ritsuka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-11-09 07:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20850071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrinityVixen/pseuds/TrinityVixen
Summary: One interview hews too closely to the truth and upsets the balance among the band. They each go to work setting it right again.





	1. The Article

The interview had seemed legit. _Metropolis_ was a top site for music news and interviews. Koji Yatake had cleared the journalist to sit in on yet another photo shoot they were attempting not to giggle through. It was for their upcoming second album. There were a lot more photographers this time, and Take, now their manager (after Haruki balked at the responsibility on top of everything else), thought one more body among the throng wouldn't matter.

At the time, it hadn't. But then the article came out online the next day.

_The Virgin, the Lover, the Flirt, and the Slut_: _Given and "The Seasons" of Love_

Buried on the under salacious, click-driving headline, the article isn't too off base, which is exactly the problem: nothing is, strictly-speaking, actionably libelous, and most of it was bound to come out eventually. The sheer number of people Kaji Akihiko had been intimate with in his itinerant days made discovery of his prolific proclivities inevitable. Much as any of them hated to admit it, Sato Mafuyu's tragic romantic history was almost the first thing any of them knew about him, so that was no surprise to read about either. Neither man seemed fussed about it.

Uenoyama Ritsuka and Nakayama Haruki are different. The problem is: they can't say how without creating more drama.


	2. The Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mafuyu loved once. He does so again. But love is not as easy to consume as tragedy.

Being “outed” is not something Mafuyu quite understands. Japan may not be as liberal as some Western nations, but his mother and friends had always known about him and Yuuki and none of them treated him differently. It had never been a very great secret at school, either, less after Yuuki died. 

The general public knowing about Yuuki is more of a mixed blessing. He likes to think Yuuki would appreciate the attention, even if he only exists as part of Mafuyu's story. It's a neat inversion of the lives they led together, when he was Yuuki's accessory. On the other hand, everyone knowing about Yuuki amplifies the pressure to be sad about him, demonstrably so. It chokes his hard-won ability to be more open and expressive. The article creates a crowd of fans that want him to suffer enough for them to take their share, to feel some part of his exquisite sadness. 

He's right back to the days following Yuuki's death, feeling eyes on him at all times, weighing him down with judgment because he can't cry for them, can't fall apart in a way they find pitiable instead of reserved. Ritsuka blusters on about the invasion of privacy on his behalf, and he wishes he could voice even one-tenth of that fury for himself.

"I feel," he sighs, late at night in the hotel room he shares with Ritsuka. They're traveling for a tour of sorts. It's more a collection of gigs across and around Osaka--just enough money to pay for them to take the time off all of their various jobs. There may be more, now, probably, thanks to that article, which is of no comfort.

Ritsuka, resting next to him on the tiny bed instead of occupying the other set aside for him, takes his hand and drags him closer. They can share a room, a bed, a date, but Mafuyu knows his boyfriend is still gun-shy about physical gestures, even when they’re alone. The kiss he places on Mafuyu's knuckles shows just how worried he is.

"They'll see how much," Ritsuka swears, resting their linked fingers on his chest over his heart. Ritsuka sighs, his brows pinching together like they do when he's overwhelmed. "Sometimes I wish you felt less."

Mafuyu whines, turning onto his side to snuggle against Ritsuka, laying his head on his shoulder, shoving his arm under Ritsuka’s back, and throwing one leg over his. There is nothing to be done about the article or about how much he feels, but this helps. The friction and warmth of a body against his own is nice, too. Maybe there is something he can do about the claims in that article after all. The thought provokes a giggle out of him.

"What?" Ritsuka asks, opening one eye to appraise him warily.

"I was thinking about the article," he says, still biting against laughter.

"What’s funny about it?"

"The part where I can do something about you being a virgin," Mafuyu says, sweetly, as he leans in and kisses Ritsuka's neck. On a whim, he nips at his earlobe with his eyeteeth.

Ritsuka's shriek is answered by Haruki banging on the opposite wall. "Go to bed!"

If anything can be counted on to overcome his boyfriend's awkwardness in romance, it's his anger. Ritsuka lets go of Mafuyu's hand to thump the wall over their heads. "Flirt!"

Haruki slaps back, "Virgin!"

Mafuyu giggles until he is breathless. It's the start of a process by which they are going to get over this nonsense, he hopes.


	3. The Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruki has problems and no solutions.

For about one week after the article is published, Haruki feels very popular. The others receive more attention, but he holds his own in comments and mentions. Some of his fans are also commenters on his hairstyling videos, which get linked together on Twitter. His modeling and his romantic obituary in the article lead to some unflattering assumptions about his intelligence, seriousness, and musical talent. It’s a sore spot, what with him being the oldest man playing with some bonafide prodigies, and social media finds all the places to apply pressure to it.

On a cigarette break, Haruki unloads his frustrations onto Take, all of which he has heard before, but all of which he listens to again. He’s a good friend.

"Where does she even get off? I'm not a flirt! If anything I'm-I'm--!"

But what he is or isn't he cannot rightly say. He has a discomforting sense that the journalist called him a flirt because there was nothing else for her to work with. His romantic and sexual experience is neither prolific nor abstemious, which makes him common, average. It’s like his playing—adequate, spirited, able, but nothing no one else couldn’t do just as well with practice. He's the relationship equivalent of the rhythm section—background noise, nothing to make him stand out, for better or worse, but pleasant to look at and be looked at by. Maybe the kind of guy one might entertain the idea of exchanging numbers with but would never actually call. In other words?

"I'm boring," he wails, slumping to rest his chin on his folded forearms.

"Wrong," a stern voice comes over his shoulder.

At the edge of his peripheral vision, Haruki sees Take startle, then bow out from the balcony. He rolls his head to one side to take in Akihiko, drinking coffee, leaning against a pillar as if he held the building up and not the other way around. It's criminal how good he makes that look, in his ripped jeans and tank top. His lip piercing clinks against the mug. Unconsciously, Haruki tongues the inside of his bottom lip imagining the taste of metal there.

"It doesn't bother you?"

They have had a version of this discussion, in various configurations of the band and Take, over the past few days. Akihiko's answer in front of the others had been unvarying. This time, his shrug seems less solid than it had.

Haruki struggles to swallow against a lump in his throat. "Akihiko?"

"It's not nice," the other man says, frowning, "what she said about you."

Haruki shakes his head, tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Not about me--"

"I don't like it," Akihiko cuts him off, tossing the dregs of his coffee at the ashtray and prowling over to Haruki’s side, back resting against the railing Haruki leans on. He seizes the cigarette Haruki has more or less forgotten in his hand, taps the ash off it, and takes a long drag, maintaining stern eye contact the whole while. It’s explicit, dangerous, and thrilling, and Haruki can only hope none of that shows on his face.

“I don’t like when people badmouth you, but,” he pauses, exhaling a cloud of vapor away from Haruki, "I hate it when you do it."

A flustered blush rises in Haruki's cheek, and he presses his face into his shirt sleeve, willing it to go away. Akihiko grunts, passes the cigarette back to him, resting it on Haruki’s pouting lower lip. Second-hand kissing, the only kind he’s likely ever to get from the object of his affection.

Abashed, he looks down at his feet. “Sorry. I just—it’s not always fun to be the boring one.”

Akihiko snorts. “Uecchi is the virgin.”

“Virginity has some benefits,” Haruki counters, though, with Akihiko this close to him, and his taste on his lips, he can’t think of any.

“No STDs, I guess,” Akihiko says, charitably.

“It makes him desirable,” Haruki adds, frown deepening. As if Ritsuka needed the help. What, exactly, about being a blue-eyed virtuoso guitarist and composer in a rock band was _undesirable_?

“Harmony and rhythm are hard,” Akihiko says, apropos of nothing.

“What?”

Akihiko lets his head fall backwards, far enough over the railing to fall out of shadow and into sunlight. He basks, face turned into the light, softer now where he had been stern before.

“Harmony,” he repeats, lip curling up on one side. “Everyone can follow melody, but if you want things to work, you need harmony. Doesn’t get all the attention, maybe, but nothing works without it. Rhythm keeps all the parts marching together.”

Akihiko opens his eyes the barest sliver, fixes Haruki with a look intense enough to set him on fire. “Without them, music is just noise.”

Haruki hums at this, a pleasant shiver running down his spine at this praise even as he shakes his head, embarrassed. “If that’s all your music school tuition is paying for, you deserve your money back.”

Akihiko barks out a harsh laugh. “It’s not a media degree, I suppose.”

Haruki sinks back onto his folded arms in a huff. “Which I’ll probably never finish at this rate.” He can’t keep up the façade of irritation; the degree matters, of course, but being admired by your crush is a better immediate comfort. “Maybe I’ll write my dissertation on harmonies and rhythm.”

“That’s an idea.” Akihiko pushes off the balcony railing to head back inside. “Five more minutes before I let Uecchi come drag you back inside.”

“All right,” he says, righting himself and stretching out his back, “but knock on the studio door before you go in.”

Akihiko raises an eyebrow in question.

Haruki winks at him. “I make no guarantees the boys are actually working. You might want to give _them_ five minutes.”

Akihiko huffs, “Everyone is taking that damn article so seriously.”

Haruki waggles a finger. “To be fair, they’re teenagers. They’d probably be doing that anyway.”

“I thought the problem was that they weren’t.”

He has Haruki there. Plastering a grin on his face, he walks over to Akihiko and summons enough courage to clap him on the opposite shoulder. It’s not quite a hug, but it’s on the intimate side of friendly gestures. If he’s going to be a goddamned flirt, he is going to do his best. What does it matter about their band rule about PDA? According to social media, he isn’t serious about anything. Might as well live down to it.

(It has nothing to do with a license to touch to Akihiko. Nope.)

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haruki is SO VALID.


	4. The Slut and the Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihiko is a problem-solver

It isn’t Akihiko’s favorite thing that his love-life is being picked at with distasteful euphemisms about his implied self-respect. But, in the end, they're just words, and as in every other arena, Akihiko can’t compete with Ugetsu. _If anything, I get more action than you do_, he had purred after refusing Akihiko’s offer to move out.

Weirdly, what the article makes clear is that, as far as drummers go, he's not atypical. None of the other crews they meet at gigs or festivals find his reputation unusual. Most just sigh and roll their eyes and mutter, "You know _drummers_," as if an ability to swing sticks meant a habit of swinging something else. Not so different. He can hide in the assumption that all his entanglements were self-chosen. In a way, he supposes, they were.

Besides, it is adorable how defensive Haruki gets, especially when he has to physically restrain himself from telling off the many, many folks who attempt to chat Akihiko up. Not a year ago, he would have been more receptive. Maybe not outwardly, but some part of his lizard brain would catalogue each conversation, saving phone numbers for the future when they might be needed. Now, he can just keep the ones he wants--people he wants to talk to, engage with, or, conversely, sit with in comfortable quiet on a smoke break.

Not talking or thinking about the article seems a smart survival strategy. He wishes the others would do the same. Instead, he has to listen to Haruki moan about his lack of perceived sexiness (a lie) and Ritsuka grinding his teeth after anyone even looks at him with anything like pity. Mafuyu is the only sensible one, though his indifference is less studied than Akihiko’s own.

“It’s all anyone at school wants to talk about,” Mafuyu gripes when he arrives alone for practice because Uenoyama got in a fight at school after one too many of his classmates teased him about the article. Mafuyu jabs the jack connecting his guitar into the amp with more force than necessary. “It’s not as if they didn’t already want all of his time,” he grumbles.

“Oh?”

Mafuyu ducks his head, red fringe falling into his eyes. “Uenoyama is…very popular.”

Akihiko nods, scratches at his day-old stubble with the butt of his drumstick. “With the girls or the boys?”

“Both,” Mafuyu hisses, then slumps over his guitar. “If we could just…admit we’re dating, but...”

But they can’t, Akihiko knows. He didn’t really agree with Haruki’s rule, but to avoid drama, he accepted it, for all the good it’s done. Haruki can ban anyone making lewd comments on their social media feed—legally, Mafuyu and Ritsuka are _minors_—but he can’t stop people from talking in school.

Ritsuka comes in an hour later, his left cheek swollen and apple-red, a bruise in the making. He says nothing, not about his tardiness nor the shiner, and glares at Haruki before turning to open his case and tune his guitar. Haruki’s eyes find Akihiko’s own and he subtly tips his chin down.

_Leave it_.

He does. They play, they don’t talk, and it’s a mess. Ritsuka packs up in hurry after, shoving Mafuyu ahead of him and out of the studio door without so much as a “good night.”

Haruki blinks at the slamming of the door, jerks his thumb at it. “What’s gotten into him?”

Akihiko could explain. What he says is, “Let’s get a drink.”

Over the course of several beers, Haruki slides into the ill-humor that was affecting the other half of the band. He’s scrolling through his phone, grimacing at comments on the article. Those he can’t control, and Akihiko gets an earful.

“This one wants to pop Uecchi’s cherry. His profile picture makes him look like he’s fifty,” Haruki sneers. It’s an ugly expression that trespasses on his otherwise serene face. He turns his phone around to show Akihiko. He’s not wrong about the photo. Akihiko’s eyes wander down the page, and he flicks his index finger at it, cataloguing the many, many vulgar comments.

That isn’t what surprises him.

“People,” he exhales softly, raising an eyebrow at Haruki as he looks up, “think we’re together?”

Haruki chokes on his beer, and the subsequent coughing fit turns him nearly purple. He drops his phone to thump his own chest. Akihiko catches it to keep reading while patting Haruki on the back.

Most of the comments are extrapolating from him and Haruki being older and more experienced. He understands the impulse, the desire to be closer to, to know more about an otherwise untouchable person. He’s even played out a version of this fantasy himself by guessing which member of an ensemble Ugetsu might take home from a gig. (He lies to himself that that was about survival and knowing when to be out of the house.) Some of the comments are graphic, descriptions of what the authors would happily do to both of them if they weren't sure Akihiko and Haruki weren't already doing it to each other. He makes a mental list. These are good suggestions, and free.

Haruki gasps, still recovering from beer going down the wrong way, “People on the internet are bastards. They’ll say and believe anything.”

That may be so, but once the seed is planted in his brain, Akihiko does not find he minds the image of Haruki performing any one of those acts with him. Haruki is handsome, kind, and available—the last two attributes perhaps being what is most notably absent from his storied love life. And, unless he misses his guess, Haruki would not necessarily mind either.

Just like that, he thinks he has their answer. A way to save his band mates from their own slightly warped public personas.

He raises an eyebrow and grins. “So you’re saying you deny,” he drops his eyes to the first comment he can find, “letting me pound your ass while you brush your teeth every morning?”

Haruki emits a screech like an overheated tea kettle and almost falls off his barstool. The color first drains from then comes rushing back to his cheeks. He gapes, lips opening around the syllables of words that die in the back of his throat. The hiccups of air stopping around his larynx might be his soul trying to escape.

Akihiko frowns, as if considering some well-thought out counterargument. “I don’t usually have that much time in the mornings.” He threads his tongue piercing between his teeth, tugs it back. “I suppose if it was after one of our late nights—”

Haruki waves his hands wildly. "Stop it! We're in public!"

"So I shouldn't say that we've--"

Haruki clamps his palm over Akihiko's mouth. Between that, the shouting, and gesticulating, Haruki is causing more people to pay attention to them than Akihiko had. A few heads turn in their direction. He grins, then he licks Haruki's palm. Haruki withdraws his hand as if burned.

"Stop!"

"I can't help it," he croons, leaning as far forward as Akihiko leans back in retreat. "Can't help myself when there's someone so pretty around me."

People are _definitely_ staring, and with the size of the crowd he can see from his peripheral vision, he thinks he can count on someone to have a phone out to capture the moment. Akihiko slides from his bar stool, shrugging and putting his hands in his front pockets. Haruki relaxes, assuming the danger has passed.

Silly man.

Akihiko doesn't have to look to know where to find Haruki's chin with his hand. Haruki's mouth is opening in a question when Akihiko covers it with his own. He swallows the other man’s grunt of surprise and slides out of the kiss and past Haruki in one fluid motion. He can hear a few camera apps clicking. Bingo.

He finds out he was right when he checks their social media feed the next day.

The feed has multiple posts, one of which is from Take--"traitor," Haruki responds with an angry face emoji. It's the best free press money can't buy. It's a perfect distraction, though it does take some explaining to Ritsuka and Mafuyu who show up fuming and indulgent, respectively, at Haruki’s apartment the next night.

“What the hell?” Uenoyama gestures in the direction of Akihiko and Haruki, arms flailing. “You two—!”

“Congratulations?” Mafuyu adds when his boyfriend is at a loss for words over the perceived betrayal.

“No, not us two,” Akihiko confesses. “Just me. Haruki was just an innocent bystander.”

“That’s right! I didn’t! I wasn’t! I’m not involved!” Haruki shouts, throwing his hands in the air, his face a more or less permanent blush at this point.

Mafuyu blinks, looks slowly between them. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong!” Haruki interrupts, at volume.

“You’re welcome,” Akihiko says.

Ritsuka actually stamps his foot like a toddler. “What should we be thanking you for, exactly!?”

Akihiko came to the meeting prepared. He turns his laptop around. Their Twitter feed keeps requesting an update to show new mentions. He clicks on a button, does it several times, refreshing the page. Ritsuka looks at but does not seem to read the messages.

“No one is talking about us,” Mafuyu explains, reaching over to take his hand. In the past, such a simple gesture might have left Ritsuka a stammering, flushed mess like Haruki. Here and now, Ritsuka’s eyes go a bit cross and he looks as if he’s been stabbed, a little, but he also is clearly fighting the urge to smile. Or cry.

Akihiko grins. Haruki pinches the bridge of his nose against a headache. “We had a rule.”

“I didn’t break it.”

Snorting, Haruki snipes, “What do you call this then?”

“We’re not actually dating.”

“But now people think we are! What’s the point of a rule if you’re just going to ignore the spirit of it?”

“If it’s that easy to get around, it’s probably a stupid rule,” Akihiko muses.

“It _is_ a stupid rule,” Ritsuka agrees, his voice dreamy instead of angry. He’s looking at where Mafuyu’s and his hands are linked together.

“We have the rule so we can keep our private lives _private_.”

“Bit late for that,” Ritsuka mutters. The bruise on his cheek has gone purple, and he presses into it with the fingers of his other hand.

“Uecchi has a point,” Akihiko agrees. “The damage was already done. We’re just taking back control of the narrative.”

They sit in tense silence until Mafuyu says, “So, you’re not dating, then?”

“No!” Haruki squeals. Akihiko says nothing. The speed and emphasis of his denial hurts, a bit. He’s the one who put Haruki into this position, though, so he has no right to complain.

“A lie, but a useful one. One that people will believe.”

“At what cost?” Haruki snaps at him. “Some of us would love to actually _have_ a girlfriend. Having a b-boyfriend puts a stop to that.”

Akihiko preens as Haruki stutters on the word _boyfriend_. “You can always dump me later. Or cheat on me.” He shrugs. That fits with his narrative, too.

Haruki narrows his eyes at him. “So I can be the bad guy?”

“I can cheat on you first, if you find someone you’re interested in. Just so long as we don’t break up the band, right?”

Weird. His gut turns over uncomfortably at the thought.

“How generous,” Haruki sighs, dropping his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Haruki,” Mafuyu says, leaning over to pat his hand. “You shouldn’t have to be unhappy, too.”

Abashed, Haruki turns his face away from the younger boy. Heavens bless Mafuyu, Akihiko thinks loudly in his direction. Bless him and his lack of tact. Someone more empathetic would have kept the word _too_ out of the sentence.

Haruki can’t win under the onslaught of Mafuyu’s earnestness. His smile is sweet and self-deprecating.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would be so hard for you.”

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, apology accepted," Ritsuka waves Haruki off. "All in favor of abolishing this stupid rule about not letting people know we're dating?"

Akihiko raises his hand with Mafuyu and Ritsuka.

Akihiko nudges Haruki, who folds his arms over his chest so as not to join in. "Come on. We don't need it." _And it’s already too late,_ he implies with a waggling of eyebrows

With a sigh, Haruki raises his palm. "This is going to be such a headache."

Ritsuka brushes him off, rising with Mafuyu's still hand clasped in his own. "Good meeting," he mumbles as he beats a hasty retreat for the door. For his part, Mafuyu appears equal parts confused and elated. Ritsuka yanks him across the threshold and slams the door behind them. 

“All’s well for him at least,” Haruki sulks, shoulders bowed.

Akihiko shrugs. “It’ll come out right.”

Haruki narrows his eyes at him. “You owe me for this.”

“Agreed.” He frowns, thinking, then waggles a suggestive eyebrow. “Food? Dinner?”

Haruki folds his arms over his chest, turns his head away. “At least dinner!”

“Whoa,” Akihiko says, grinning as he shoulder-checks his friend. “Slow down. No matter what you’ve heard, I’m not that kind of guy.”

Haruki’s spluttering is worth every gray hair this band is going to give them both.

*******

The Virgin...is not a virgin anymore, thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I write fanfic about Given now?


End file.
